


Wants To Be Led Home

by Cristinuke



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: And Bruce Gives Him One, Anxiety, Clint Needs a Hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 07:43:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3373391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cristinuke/pseuds/Cristinuke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint gets anxiety too, some days, and just needs to be with Bruce.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wants To Be Led Home

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Everybody Asks Me How I Know](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3278852) by [Nonymos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonymos/pseuds/Nonymos). 



> I had a shitty week, and [Nonymos ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonymos/pseuds/Nonymos%0A) was there to make me feel better. I wrote this as a stress-relief/cathartic exercise and ended up trying to set it in Nonymos' [Marvel Fractions](http://archiveofourown.org/series/67319%0A) universe (Specifically [part four](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3278852/chapters/7152506) ). Many thanks to Nony for letting me play in that playground :D

Clint just wanted to be home.

Getting chewed out by Natasha first, then Jessica, and _then_ Bobbi for no reason had not been the way he was expecting to be greeted after the shit-show of a mission.

Okay, so maybe it wasn't for "no reason." But still, not a good enough reason to get an earful three times over, over something he would have done again, if given the chance. He was the only one who could have done it. He saved lives, dammit, why couldn't they see that?

Then getting a dressing down by two other superiors, plus Hill, had been the cherry on top.

Clint was _done_.

He couldn't deal with anything anymore, and he needed to be home _right now_.

But as he trudged up the flights of stairs leading to his apartment, his footfalls grew heavier and heavier as his mind kept flickering between the mission and each of the angry faces that had accompanied his briefing. His shoulders felt heavy, and his stomach started churning in a way that made him think he was going to be sick, and he had to stop and sit down at the top of the stairs to put his head in between his knees.

He realized he had stopped breathing, and consciously made himself breath out and in.

Out and in.

Out and in.

The churning didn't stop, but Clint thought he might as well keep heading towards his floor; he'd rather throw up there than here in the stairwell.

He thought of Bruce, and felt a pang of guilt when he remembered that he'd promised that he'd be careful on this mission. Of course, Clint knew, rationally, that he couldn't always hold his promises, but his mind couldn't stop helpfully supplying the fact that Clint _had_ been a bit reckless. Jessica had made that very clear.

The guilt sat heavy in his gut, and Clint loathed to see the quiet disappointment in Bruce's eyes when he figured out that Clint couldn't keep himself out of trouble. He was going to realize just how stupid Clint was, no matter how hard Clint tried to hide it. But it wasn't enough to make him stop walking.

As much as Clint would hurt to see that look, not seeing Bruce would be so much worse.

Clint realized that he was standing in front of his apartment, and he had to remind himself to breathe again. That was a natural, physiological reflex, wasn't it? So why did he had to remind himself to do such a basic thing?

With trembling fingers, Clint reached out and unlocked his front door, stepping inside. His eyes immediately zeroed on Bruce across the room, sitting on the couch with a tablet in hand; his head was still lifting in curiosity to see who was at the door when Clint had to remind himself to breathe again as his heart clenched uncomfortably. When Bruce made eye contact and realized who it was, his face broke into an eager smile, and he put his tablet down, shifting as if getting ready to stand. He looked so natural, like _of course_ Bruce was going to come and greet him after days apart.

Clint suddenly realized that Bruce wasn't going to judge him, not for this, and he felt stupid all over again for even thinking he would. Bruce was going to understand, and he wasn't going to judge.

He wasn't going to judge.

Clint didn't even realize that he had moved until he was standing in front of Bruce and crashing down on top of him, wrapping his arms around his neck and straddling his hips, needing to feel close. It was awkward at first, because Bruce was practically thrown back, suddenly having a whole lapful and weight of a man pushing him into the sofa behind him. But Bruce took it into stride, and shifted around a bit so that Clint was arranged in a more comfortable position.

"Hey," Bruce greeted softly as his hands came up to encircle Clint. He could practically _hear_ the hesitant smile on Bruce.

Clint responded by burying his face into Bruce's neck and breathing out harshly. His trembling had progressed from his fingers to his whole body, but he thought that maybe if he pressed close enough to Bruce, and if Bruce held tight enough, maybe he wouldn't be able to shake anymore.

He knew his belt buckle must have been pressing into Bruce's stomach, and he wanted to move it out of the way and apologize, but no matter his intentions, he couldn't rip himself away from his position. So instead, he squeezed his eyes shut and choked on a soft cry that threatened to escape.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Bruce asked gently. His arms were strong around Clint, and his fingers had found their way to Clint's hair, sifting through the strands and untangling dirt and small knots in such a soothing way that Clint found himself helplessly starting to relax; he hadn't even been aware that he'd been so tense.

He still couldn't bring himself to speak, so he just shook his head. Bruce continued with his light ministrations, and Clint realized how sore and uncomfortable he was; his arms and thighs slowly unlocked from their stressed positions, and a deep, exhausted ache followed immediately.

Slowly, he began to unravel himself from the inside out. He could, now that he was safe in Bruce's arms, he knew that. So he forced every muscle to relax, starting from the top down to his toes still curled in their boots. Bruce didn't let go of him once, just readjusting his hold as Clint melted against him.

"Do you want me to make you some tea?" Bruce asked, charitably after some time. It was understandable,- Bruce always made tea or coffee to go along with some comfort food for Clint when he got strung out like this, but just the thought of a drink or food right now made Clint's stomach revolt again, and jump up in his throat, threatening to puke up whatever contents was left in his gut. Which wasn't much, since Clint hadn't eaten in too many hours.

The thought of throwing up bile and who knew what else on Bruce, was not a pleasant one, and Clint couldn't help the strangled whimper as he shook his head in disagreement. It wasn't until Bruce apologized quietly, that Clint realized he had locked up all over again. He began again his process of relaxing and easing himself back into some state of calm, even though he felt so far removed of anything resembling settling down.

His body still felt tight, especially in his stomach, but he was too tired to not loosen up inch by inch as Bruce held him. There was a momentary flare of panic when Bruce slid his arms around to his front, but he was semi-placated when he realized that Bruce was just shrugging off Clint's jacket. When he wrapped his arms around Clint again, he could feel so much more and better. With his chest pressed tight against Bruce's, he was aware of Bruce's steady heartbeat, strong and calming, and he hoped that Bruce couldn't feel his own too-fast heart trying to break out of his chest. He hoped that Bruce wouldn't notice his irregular breathing or the wet spot that was growing on his shoulder, but he knew that Bruce was too observant to not realize what was going on.

Clint was beyond grateful when Bruce chose to stay silent, but it was also a curse, because Clint couldn't stop his mind from racing and going over every event, every conversation from the past 72 hours. All the things he could have done different, all the positions he could have changed, the suggestions he could have made, the angles he could have created. All the ruthless truths about him, and the disappointment in everyone's eyes. All the 'what if's and the wishes to turn back time. All the imaginary comebacks he could and should have made during each dressing down, but he was too stupid to not think of it then. God, he was so stupid, and he could have avoided this whole mess if he hadn't been _so stupid_.

His thoughts were spiraling down out of control, and his body had tensed up _again_ , but Bruce was then humming, and it jarred Clint out of his self-deprecation. Clint's focus sharply shifted as he tried to figure out what song Bruce was humming. It was on the tip of his tongue, he knew it, knew he'd heard the song before, somewhere, but it was escaping him completely.

The distraction was working, though, and Clint was able to calm down enough to start to relax again. Bruce kept continuing with his careful stroking and occasional massage along Clint's neck and shoulders, and Clint realized how much that was helping to keep him from dropping back into that dark and  tangled headspace. It took a long time, but eventually Clint could feel the tight ball in his stomach coming undone, and the hitching in his throat even out to quiet breathing.

"Tha' helps." Clint finally managed to murmur, sounding muffled from where his mouth was pressed against Bruce's collarbone. His arms were still around Bruce's neck, and he felt a twinge of guilt when he realized it must not be comfortable for Bruce. They were also tingling with restricted blood flow, so he carefully extracted his arms and instead wormed them around Bruce's soft midriff. Bruce let it happen and adjusted as needed, letting Clint smush his face along his throat.

"I’m glad." Bruce hummed back, pressing a kiss to the top of Clint's head, where he could reach.

Clint wasn't getting the words out that he wanted, though, and with effort, he got out, " _You_ help…I alw'ys feel bett'r with you."

At that, he felt both of Bruce's hands come up and tug Clint's face out of the crook of his shoulder. Bruce carefully cradled his head, handling him so tenderly that Clint felt like Bruce was holding a treasure to be cherished. Clint looked up with clouded eyes, trying to make eye contact with Bruce, but felt too unfocused and out of place to succeed. It didn't seem to matter, because suddenly Bruce was there, lips pressing oh so gently against Clint's.

It helped. It really did. It anchored him to the moment, and Clint was able to forget, for an instant, his whole day.

Bruce pulled back slowly, and Clint could feel his tentative smile when Clint tried to follow him back.

"I'm right here, Clint." Bruce whispered, and stroked Clint's cheeks with his thumb. Clint closed his eyes and nodded slightly, letting himself go slack in Bruce's grip. Bruce felt Clint's release and guided him back towards his spot on his shoulder before enveloping Clint in his arms again.

"Bruuuce…'m so _tired_." Clint slurred out, nearly desperate as his stomach flipped again; luckily, the feeling was muted somewhat by his heavy surrender.

"I know, Clint. I know. Just rest, I'll be right here."

Clint couldn't fall asleep, despite how exhausted and  fatigued he felt, so instead he just laid there on top of Bruce in a sort of half-dream haze, reveling in the steady up and down rhythm of his chest for as long as Bruce could stand it before he gently maneuvered Clint off and guided him to the bedroom. Clint didn't actually know how they got there, only that he was soon horizontal and Bruce was there, wrapped around him from behind. 

"I've got you." Bruce whispered, reassuringly tightening his grip on Clint.

That must have been what Clint needed to hear, because between one breath and the next, he finally drifted off completely. 


End file.
